


Sharp Intellect and a Heart from Hell

by theboardwalkbody



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Drug Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, mentions of rape (not graphic)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9848228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboardwalkbody/pseuds/theboardwalkbody
Summary: Violet Hardenbrook lived a relatively decent life; it was nothing extraordinary but it was comfortable and she was content. One night her entire world gets turned upside down and an old friend re-enters the picture, but will they be strong enough to fight off each others' demons as well as their own?Title Credit goes to: Beau Taplin, “Priorities.”





	1. Chapter 1

So far it was a night like any other; it was late, Violet Hardenbrook left the hospital reeking of the smell of chemical disinfectants and blood, and her walk home was long and full of the sounds of crying babies and yelling men and women. It wasn’t the best part of town, it was simply all she could afford, however. Her apartment was decent enough despite the less than favorable location; the walls were a light lavender with white trimmings and the décor may have seen some wear and tear but it still looked alright. It wasn’t anything special and some of the color choices made her wonder if the former owners were colorblind, but it was alright enough. She kept the place tidy and while the neighbors sometimes were noisy during the day she lucked out that they were mostly silent during the nights. 

It was a chilly despite the day being quite warm and she silently cursed herself for not bringing a coat. Her nurse gown may have had long sleeves but the material wasn’t so thick that it blocked out the chill completely. Hugging her arms closer to her chest Violet quickened her pace, hoping to be out of the chill. Only three blocks from home she began to feel uneasy. It felt like someone was following her and she couldn’t shake it. She used to get this feeling often when she’d first moved into the area but it was always silly paranoia and never anything real. But this night was turning out to be different after all. She tried to inconspicuously look over her shoulder to see if anyone was behind her. Despite seeing no one there she still felt uneasy and her pace quickened even more and her heart along with it. One block down, two to go.

She turned a corner onto her street, two blocks and she would be home – safe. She would lock her door immediately, close the blinds, and rest on the sofa until her nerves settled. Then she would shower, change into her nightclothes, have a quick supper, and read her novel until she fell asleep. She had the day off tomorrow, thank the Heavens, and she was looking forward to sleeping in and taking a day to herself. Still, she couldn’t stop looking over her shoulder. And still, there was nothing there for her to see. Two blocks down, one to go.

She could see her apartment building from here. ‘You’re being silly,’ she thought to herself, ‘no one is following you. Just calm down. You’re almost home.’ But she felt nauseous with worry. Her fingers were digging into her crossed arms, she realized she was almost jogging. She probably looked a little crazy, half running down the street at night like that, but in this part of town no one would notice or care. Still, she felt she was making a fool of herself and resolved to slowing down, convincing herself she was just being paranoid. Half a block to go, the door to her building within sight, she began to relax. 

Later Violet would look back upon the decision to slow down as the worst mistake of her life. She was wrong to think she needn’t worry, wrong to think she was just being paranoid, and very wrong in thinking there wasn’t anyone following her simply because she couldn’t see them. She would later regret not trusting her instincts and hiding inside one of the other countless buildings on her way home until she felt safe.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Violet was lucky. Or at least, she considered herself lucky. Her assailant took what he wanted – her – after he was just so decent enough to knock her out beforehand. She’d woken up in the hospital, the very one she worked at, filthy, hurting, and bleeding. She kept quiet as a nurse, a woman she knew despite working in a different unit, explained what they knew about how she ended up in the hospital wearing a patient gown rather than her nursing gown.

“An old woman found you laying, unconscious, on the ground down an alley. She said she knew you, said you lived down the street, she said she saw you walk home some nights. She recognized your uniform,” the nurse, Sarah, told her. “She said she saw you up the block when you rounded the corner but she’d gotten up to grab her tea and when she got back to her window you were gone. She said there was no way you’d have gotten inside your apartment yet. She finished her tea wondering what happened, figured you must have run inside perhaps. But she said it didn’t seem right. Still, she said she headed off to bed but after a couple hours she couldn’t stop thinking about you so she went to your apartment building and asked anyone if they’d seen you. No one did. So she walked up and down the block until she saw the white of your gown out of the corner of her eye. She called the police, they brought you in.”

Violet tried to think of who the old woman was, but she couldn’t think of anyone. 

“Do you remember what happened?” Sarah asked.

She went to open her mouth to speak but her body stopped her. The action alone threatened to rip her throat apart, threatened to bring up bile. She shook her head to say no. It was a lie, though, she remembered enough, and felt enough, to put together the pieces. She remembered being grabbed. Halfway down the block she lived on. She remembered being pulled into the alleyway. She remembered having her head slammed against a brick wall. She reached up to her forehead, just below her hairline over her right eye, and felt a line of stitches. Her head ached and the wound throbbed. Her arms felt bruised from where her attacker must have held her at some point, looking down at them she saw several bruises on her left arm and there was also a prick mark of a needle in the crook of her arm. She touched it gently. 

“Doctor’s took some blood, just wanted to make sure everything’s alright,” Sarah said when she saw Violet touch the area where her blood was drawn. An IV line was inserted into Violet’s right forearm and the area stung, but on inspection she saw there was nothing wrong with it. 

Under the blanket draped over her, beneath her hospital gown she felt a great pain between her legs. She hated that her first thought was, ‘guess this means you’re not a virgin anymore’. It brought a cynical laugh to her lips that, because her body still refused to let her speak, came out as more of a gruff squeak. 

“Do you need a glass of water?” Sarah asked after hearing the sound.

Violet didn’t feel thirsty but she nodded her head just so Sarah would leave the room. She wanted to be alone. 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Violet was in the hospital for only the remainder of the day. Doctors determined that, despite her dignity being damaged, there was nothing medically wrong with her. ‘Fools,’ she thought angrily as a doctor, one she did not know personally, explained that she was fine. ‘Just because you can’t see damage doesn’t mean it isn’t there,’ she thought.

The idiot doctor left and Sarah returned. Violet was glad for that at least. She still hadn’t spoken a word to anyone since she’d woken up. Only nodded or shook her head. She just felt she couldn’t speak, or maybe she didn’t want to, she wasn’t sure.

Sarah was in the middle of explaining how the doctors wanted to discharge her, but she’d insisted on having someone escort her home. The doctor’s agreed, reluctantly, to wait until someone could come and get her. Sarah thought that, perhaps, she would feel safer this way. Violet was glad it appeared that someone else had some sense to realize that not all wounds are visible, but at the same time she hated her for it. She would have loved to leave and go home and curl up in bed and not ever get out again, but now she was stuck here until someone came to babysit her. Someone who would want to know what happened. Someone who would nag her about it when all she wanted to do was forget. Besides that, she didn’t even have anyone to send for. No one cared about where she was, what she was doing, or how she was doing. No one would come.

Tears welled up in her eyes when she remembered just how utterly alone she truly was in this city. Sarah noticed and sat down next to her on the bed. She made to put an arm around her in comfort but Violet shrunk away. Sarah instead sat there with her hands folded in her lap and tried to talk some sense of security into her. Her words fell on deaf ears. Violet cared about nothing the well-meaning woman had to say to her.

Through blurred eyes she looked up from the shiny floor and looked out into the hallway. She didn’t want to cry anymore but her body had other ideas. Still, she tried to suppress it. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and her vision cleared enough that she saw a familiar face out in the hallway. He wasn’t dressed in any hospital uniform and he wasn’t an employee, despite being a doctor himself, but she knew him.

“Victor,” she choked out. Her voice sounded mangled and it hurt. She regretted it the instant she’d done it.

Sarah looked to the hallway to see a man passing by stop and look into the room. He was somewhere between clean and dirty and looking like he’d been awake for several days with the intensity of the dark circles under his eyes. He looked frightened, like a little kid caught being somewhere they shouldn’t have been, but when he saw who had called out his name his otherwise cold features became warmer. 

“Violet?” he asked, crossing into the room. He got closer and saw that it was indeed her. Her tawny hair shorter than he remembered, her frame a little thinner than before, and he would recognize her green eyes and freckle-kissed skin anywhere. The most striking difference, the difference that shocked him, was he always saw fire within her, but now she’d been extinguished. 

“I’m sorry, Sir, do you know each other?” Sarah asked. She went to place a protective hand on Violet’s shoulder but Violet pulled away again.  
“Yes,” Victor replied, “we went to school together for a time.”  
“Are you also a nurse?” Sarah asked. Male nurses weren’t common, but there were one or two from time to time, and they were usually employed by psychiatric facilities and prisons to keep male patients in line.  
“Doctor, actually. The two of us had anatomy together for a year. I was quite jealous when she graduated before me, let me say, almost wished I hadn’t chosen the longer track,” he joked, a soft smile crossing his face. Neither of the women in the room smiled. Victor cleared his throat, “Pardon me, where are my manners.” He stepped over to Sarah and held out a hand for her to shake. “Doctor, Victor Frankenstein.”  
Sarah shook his hand, “I apologize, Sir. I'm Sarah Crane. Nurse, obviously.” She looked over at Violet. She’d not said another word but she did keep alternating her gaze between the blanket and Victor. “You do know him?” Violet nodded. “I hate to be so bold, but you’ve not said too much all day, would you mind if he escorted you home – if you wouldn’t mind, Doctor – or should we call for someone else?” 

Violet looked up at Victor. She begged him to say yes with her eyes, ‘please, Victor, there’s no one else. Let me leave here.’

“No, I don’t mind, if Violet doesn’t that is,” he told Sarah. Violet nodded that it was alright.  
“Okay. Well then, I’ll get your things and you can go, Miss Violet. Don’t worry about work either, Matron Steenwyck said you can take all the leave you need,” Sarah said as she left the room. 

Violet nodded. She’d wondered what her boss was going to think of all this and she was glad that she at least seemed to be giving her some slack over it. She was worried the Matron might rush her back or maybe even fire her for being careless and letting something like this interfere with her job. She was glad to see she was wrong. 

Victor sat down in Sarah’s place on the bed, “Violet, are you alright?” His voice was soft and warm and there was indeed concern there, genuine concern that Violet hadn’t heard all day. No one asked her if she was alright, she realized. They’d asked what she remembered, they’d asked what she wanted, and they’d asked if she needed water or blankets, but no one asked her how she was. Violet began to cry again. 

Victor was never the best at social interactions. Especially not when they involved women. Even if he and Violet had known each other, even if they had been friends, he wasn’t exactly sure what he should do. It was even worse seeing his friend, who he hadn’t seen in almost two years, in the hospital in such a state but not knowing what was going on. He went to reach out for her hand but remembered the way she’d flinched away from Sarah and put his hand back down in his own lap. The action didn’t go unnoticed by Violet. 

“Victor,” she choked out again, “I don’t know if I want to go home.” Her throat felt like sandpaper and she found herself coughing by the end of her sentence. Victor reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a cup of water and handed it to her. Shaking Violet took the cup and drank. “Don’t tell Sarah.”  
“What happened?” he asked. 

‘There it was,’ she thought. The question everyone who looked at her was going to ask her for the rest of her life but before she could get angry about it Victor asked again, “Is everything alright?” She shook her head, no.

Victor was about to say something else when Sarah came back in with a bag full of the items Violet had on her possession when she arrived. It wasn’t much, simply her clothes, which were dirty and had blood on them, her shoes, a few dollars left over from the week. 

“I brought you these,” Sarah said, holding out an old dress from a donations bin. “Figured you don’t want to walk home with your old clothes or a hospital gown on,” she continued. Sarah placed the gown and the bag of Violet’s effects on the head of the bed and moved to remove the IV line from Violet’s arm. “Now that that’s done, I’ll help you change.”  
“I’ll be outside,” Victor said as he rose and stepped out of the room to give Violet privacy.

Sarah closed the door and made to help Violet undress but Violet sat with her arms crossed over her chest and shook her head. “Let me help you,” Sarah said and reached out. 

“No.” Violet said.  
Sarah realized she wouldn’t accept help and made her way to the door. “Yell if you need help, okay?” Violet nodded, but she didn’t plan on it.

Alone in the room Violet looked over at the dress draped across the opposite end of the bed. It was ugly. It was mud-brown with what looked like little black flowers sewn into it in random places. The bottom of the dress was tattered like someone wore it out when it was too long and it dragged across pavement. The collar was high, almost like a scarf, and the sleeves had ruffled cuffs. Violet hated everything about it. If none of this had happened she would never have even needed to see this hideous dress, she thought.

She made to stand but a sharp pain rang in her core. Her legs shook and she collapsed back down onto the bed. Crying she sat there a moment, a hand pressed between her thighs trying to dampen the pain, until she tried again. She managed to stand this time but she was shaky. ‘I can’t do this,’ she thought and she sat back down.

Instead of standing she reached over and grabbed the ugly dress. She pulled off the hospital gown over her head and pulled the ugly dress down over her head instead of stepping into it. Dealing with the fabric bunching up around her and trying not to suffocate in it wasn’t the worst part. The gown smelled of mothballs and dust. ‘Probably sat in some attic somewhere for 30 years,’ Violet thought. 

There was a knock at the door a moment later and Sarah’s head peaked through the door that was opened a crack, “everything alright in here?” Sarah saw Violet sitting on the bed, the dress covering her but bunched up around her waist. “Do you need help?” 

Violet gathered all the strength she had and rose to her feet. The dress fell to the floor. It was large on her petite frame and the gown pooled on the floor. “Let me see if I can find some pins to hold that up so you can walk,” Sarah said and left the room again.

Victor’s voice came through the semi-opened door and asked, “may I come in?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he came in anyway. Violet was glad he didn’t make her call out.  
“That’s not going to work,” he said, seeing how long the dress was on her. He approached her and knelt down in front of her. “Mind if I see if I can tie it up somehow?” Violet shook her head.  
Victor took handfuls of fabric and managed to tie knots into it to shorten the length. He hid the knots by pulling more fabric through them and up over them. It gave the dress a nice layered look, even if it was still an ugly dress overall. “There, now you can walk at least,” he said, standing and backing away slightly to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

Violet sat back down on the bed. “It hurts to walk,” she confided in him.  
“I’ll help you,” he assured her. He held out a hand for her to use to support herself. 

She hesitated a moment but stood again. After waiting for the pain of standing to pass she reached out and took his hand, very gently and loosely, so that she could pull away again if she wanted. He never closed his grasp, he left his hand open. Slowly she took a step, it hurt and she gripped Victor’s hand tight for support, but she didn’t sit back down. Carefully she took another and then another step until Victor had walked with her across the small room. 

“Is that alright? Does it hurt too much?” He asked. Violet shook her head. It did hurt, but it wasn’t as bad as the first time she tried. “I’ll call us a carriage, we don’t have to walk too far,” he said.  
“I can’t afford it,” she said, her voice still hoarse.  
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, “I’ve got it.” 

Victor never was a great liar and Violet saw the look in his eyes as he spoke. He didn’t have the money. Violet figured he would have been better dressed if he did. Surely a doctor’s salary pays enough for clean clothes. She wondered what brought him to London, and why he looked so down on his luck. He was smart, very smart, she couldn’t imagine he’d not found a job. She didn’t press the issue. She didn’t call out his lie, she just wanted to leave the hospital. 

Sarah returned with some pins and cloth strips to tie up the gown only to see Victor’s handiwork. “Oh, well, seems like you don’t need these,” she said. She glanced over at the pair of them standing by the wall across from the bed. Neither of them had realized she was looking at their hands; Violet hadn’t let go of Victor’s hand. Sarah figured that it was best to say nothing.

After a few moments of ensuring Violet had all her belongings and understood that she’d been medically cleared and would be “alright”, Sarah escorted Violet and Victor to the main lobby.  
“If you need anything, Violet, you know you can always call for me,” Sarah smiled. Violet nodded. “Take care now,” she concluded as Violet, with Victor escorting her, his arm very gently wrapped around her back though high up so he could place his hand over her opposite shoulder and help steady her if she needed, left the hospital and walked down the block until they saw a free carriage.


	2. Chapter 2

Violet watched the buildings and people pass by through the window in the carriage. She and Victor sat in silence and she was oblivious to the fact he kept looking over to her to make sure she was alright; her gaze was firmly fixed on the streets. Her mind was empty as she stared. She didn’t want to think, she was doing a perfectly good job at forgetting anything happened at all. That was until the carriage hit a rather rough bump that caused her to bounce in her seat slightly, the action causing her pain to the region of last night’s assault. She winced, a hiss sucked in between her teeth.

Victor placed a hand on her shoulder, but his touch wasn’t making her flinch away. “Are you alright, Violet?”  
“Yes,” she replied in a whisper.

She wasn’t aware of it herself but for some reason she was comfortable around him. His touch was gentle and genuine and she didn’t flinch away like she did with Sarah or the doctors who had come to exam her. They were cold and rough and looked at her as a thing; she felt she may as well have been a corpse on a slab meant to be an educational tool, rather than a living, breathing person who experienced pain and emotion. Sarah, she was well-meaning, but her behavior had been strictly business. Violet remembered seeing her laughing and talking to other nurses at tables across from her own during lunch breaks. Sarah always seemed so warm and animated, but that wasn’t the Sarah she saw in that hospital room. Violet wondered how Sarah managed to disconnect herself from her work-self; how Sarah could shut down and become a kindly, but otherwise professional and anonymous nurse. Violet had not yet been able to master that ability; that sort of disconnect. It had been two years since she’d started her job and yet she was still very open and personable with her patients. She briefly wondered if she must be doing something wrong. Letting out a sigh she wished she’d mastered the ability to shut down, especially now, she sat there staring out of the carriage wishing she could disconnect from the events of last night.

The carriage pulled into an unfamiliar part of town. Her home was in the other direction some number of blocks. She looked around the streets, seeing the river branch off and travel away from their direction, wondering why they had gone this way yet keeping quiet about it. This part of town was no better than where she lived and she saw the clear evidence of poverty here, too. If she was honest she’d say this part of town was even worse off than her own. Finally they came to a stop in front of a thin building with a large iron door. Victor helped her out, paid the driver, and led her into the building.

Their descent up the three flights of stairs were slow, too much movement caused Violet pain, but eventually they stopped climbing and Victor pulled out the keys to his apartment.

“Um, wait here a moment, please. Just need to tidy some things a bit,” he said, a bit frazzled.

Violet allowed him the time, she felt slightly guilty that she’d encroached on his time and even worse still that she had basically shown up to his home without forewarning. She listened from the hallway to what sounded like books being closed or stacked, the sound of metal clinking against glass, papers being shuffled. After a moment or so Victor reappeared at the door and led her inside. It was a very small apartment. Bedroom, kitchen, dining area/study all in one room. Every inch of space he had seemed to be covered in books, piles of 3 to 4 in some areas, others opened but flipped to their contents were hidden beneath. Very few items of décor were to be seen, a couple of glass jugs by the door, the wardrobe against the far wall, and she swore she could count at least 10 different colors of paint on the walls. He had a single bed with a pillow and few blankets; it did not seem very cozy at all. There was a door just off the kitchen, she assumed that must be where the bathroom was, and she feared how decrepit it might be judging by the rest of the place.

“May I sit on the bed, please?” she asked when he pulled out a seat from the table for her to sit. “It’s just, the hardness of the seats have been hurting.”  
“Of course, go ahead,” he said.   
“Thank you,” she walked over to the bed and sat down at the edge of it. She placed her bag of belongings at her feet.   
“I can wash that if you want,” Victor offered motioning to her bag.   
“I have others,” she replied, “I don’t even know why I took that with me. I never want to see it again.”

Victor nodded, unsure of what else to say he offered, “Tea?”  
“Please, thank you,” Violet responded and Victor walked the few feet to the kitchen and put water on.

When his back was to her she quickly took a peak at one of the texts by his bed. It was a medical text and judging by its title it was about some form of resurrection. Something about theories of restarting the body’s system using energy and mechanics. A thinner book lay beneath it, a book of poetry by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Violet didn’t know much of poetry, preferring music instead, but she remembered hearing his name in a literature course she’d taken back at university. She thought she had learned that he had a wife who was a novelist, but she was sure she was mistaken. As an avid reader she was sure she’d have come across one of her works at some point if she really was an author.

She hadn’t realized her gaze had become fixed as she thought and as a result she had not noticed Victor pull up a chair across from where she sat. She faintly heard his voice, sounding very far away at first, like she was underwater.

“Violet?” his voice became clearer as he repeated it and she pulled herself out of her thoughts.  
“Hmm?” she said, sounding quite lofty, which was not like her.  
“What are you staring at?” he asked.   
“Shelley,” she said, “I was thinking about Shelley.”  
“Are you familiar with his work?” his face seemed to brighten as he asked.   
“No, just… sounded familiar is all,” Violet replied.  
The brightness dropped from Victor’s face at the realization Violet didn’t share the appreciation for the author, “he’s excellent, you should read him sometime.”

Violet nodded, despite having no intention to do so.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment before Violet broke it, “What’s a doctor doing in such a bad neighborhood? I never pegged you for a penny pincher.”  
“Nor am I one,” he said, “I’m not practicing… I’m engaged in research.”  
“Research of what, may I ask?” Violet questioned.  
Victor hesitated a moment before answering, “Nothing you’d be interested in.”  
“What makes you assume so?” Violet asked.  
“The way you went on about obstetrics back in school. Tell me, have you gotten into that field?” He asked.  
“Yes, I have. Started a year ago. All it took was a year of experience and a lot of work on the night shift grubbing up to Matron Steenwyck and finally she allowed me a position in maternity and nursery,” Violet explained.  
“Where did you gain your experience?” Victor implored.  
“Surgery,” Violet answered.  
Victor’s face lit up again. “You always said you would hate surgery!”  
“I did. At first,” she replied. “I’ve garnered an appreciation for it, once my stomach stopped churning at the sight of internal organs and tissues.”  
“I suppose you don’t see much of that in maternity,” Victor said.  
“You’d be surprised, actually.” Violet told him. “So, what’s your research, Doctor?”  
Victor sighed again. Whatever it was Violet could see he was very hesitant to tell her. “As someone who seems to appreciate the beginnings of life I don’t feel you’d be too interested in hearing about work done in death.”   
“I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell me what I would and wouldn’t be interested in, Victor. I’ve seen plenty of death these past two and half years and believe me, if I could stop it, I would.” She snapped at him. She wasn’t usually one to anger easily but she’d not been herself since last night. “I’m sorry,” she concluded.  
“No, you’re right, I should never assume.” He agreed.

The kettle began to whistle and Victor rose from his seat to fix the tea.

“Still take sugar and milk?” he asked.  
“I’m surprised you remember that after these years, but no, just milk now.” Violet said.

For some reason the moment he rose and walked away she’d began thinking about last night again. When he returned and handed her a cup she wasn’t sure if it was his presence or the warmth that spread from her cup, to her hands, and into her that chased the thoughts away again. Either way it was a welcome distraction.

“I’m researching the boundaries between life and death,” he said after swallowing a sip of his own tea.  
“Is that what that book is?” Violet looked over towards the book she’d looked at earlier, the one sitting atop the book of poetry.  
“Sort of,” he explained, “that book is about theory. It’s actually more about sustaining life than it is creating it. Imagine being able to bring life from death, Violet. I believe it’s possible, that’s what I want to do.”  
“You want to raise the dead?” she nearly choked on her tea.   
“I don’t intend to have an army of corpses, no.” He looked offended. “Imagine you lose someone, the pain is unimaginable unless you’ve felt it before. It’s permanent, you’ll never get them back. But imagine you could. Imagine you could beat death, reanimate the body, and bring them back!” He was speaking quickly and loudly, obviously very passionate. “It is my goal, Violet, to pierce the veil between life and death.”

Violet remembered him once telling her his mother had passed away while he was a young boy, she hoped his insane crusade wasn’t spurred on by some desire to bring her back. Surely he knew he couldn’t, her body would be too far decomposed by now, and she knew he was smart enough to realize that. Still, as insane as it sounded it wasn’t detestable, the more she thought about it.

“I suppose you think me mad?” He asked.  
“I know you went on a lot about dead things back in school, but I didn’t realize this was your intent,” she admitted.  
“How could I be open about it?” he asked, “Most are not accepting of such endeavor.”  
“I will say, I don’t know how to feel about it,” she admitted.  
“You either agree or don’t,” Victor shrugged.  
“I don’t think it’s that simple, Victor.” She argued. “It’s a fond idea. Never needing be apart from loved ones, never going through life with the threat of death, of seeing the world change around us, to live in the present and the future, to never need worry of it all ending. I certainly would not opt this for myself but if those I cared about would never leave, if I would never be without them, I could get behind that notion. But Victor, how could you possibly hope to do this? How could you ever research such a thing?”  
“I’ve been making progress. I’ve been conducting experiments, I’ve been gathering knowledge. I’ve—.” He cut himself off.   
“God, Victor, you’re not a resurrection-man are you? Is that what you’ve been doing since you graduated?” Violet asked. It would certainly explain why he’d come to London. Higher concentration of people meant more death, more death meant more bodies to work with.   
“More or less,” he confirmed.  
“Victor….” She breathed. “I’m guessing it doesn’t exactly pay well.”  
“No.” he agreed.  
“Does your father not still send you money?” she asked.  
“No. He deplores the fact I’m not a physician. He wanted me to join the Navy and serve as a combat physician, or at the very least have my own practice. When I rejected both and went off on my own he cut me off,” he explained.  
Violet nodded and sipped her tea. “Sorry to hear.”  
“Don’t be, he never understood what I wanted,” Victor said.

There was silence again for several moments. With the silence came the thoughts again and Violet began thinking about her walk home the night before. Without realizing her hands began to tremble and Victor placed his cup down on the table beside him and reached out, took her cup from her and placed it next to his own, and gently steadied her hands with his own.  

“Will you ever tell me what happened?” he asked.

It wasn’t what she was expecting. She was expecting him to ask her directly, expecting him to maybe even demand the answer to the question he sought, but he didn’t. He was going to let her tell him in her own time. She felt fondness toward him for that.

“I’m sorry to burden you like this, to show up to your home so abruptly after so many years without seeing each other no less, and in this dress!” Her voice shook and her throat stung, but she didn’t cry, she willed herself not to.

“It’s quite alright. It’s been a pleasure seeing you again, even if the circumstances aren’t the best. Back in the hospital you said you weren’t sure you wanted to head home, so I didn’t ask you where home was, figured maybe here would be best until you’re feeling alright to head home. I hope I didn’t misinterpret that,” he said. Violet shook her head. No, she’d realized she’d preferred this to being home alone. “And you’re dress certainly is hideous. Not your usual style at all.”

Shockingly she let out a laugh; it was warm and genuine. She was surprised to see she hadn’t forgotten laughter after all. “What do you know about style, Victor?”  
Victor smiled, “not much, admittedly, but I remember enough about you to know this is certainly not what you’d usually wear.”  
“Why do you remember so much about me?” she asked, quietly.  
“We were friends… are friends, I hope. I know we’ve not spoken for a long time, I’ve been so engrossed in my research. I should have reached out, I apologize. You aren’t someone forgettable,” he told her.

‘You aren’t someone forgettable,’ he’d said. It gave her mixed feelings. She’d always considered herself forgettable. She wasn’t the most social and her friend group was small; non-existent ever since moving to the city. Yet when he said it the words filled her with warmth and something else she couldn’t quite place. Still, she couldn’t believe them. Kind words, that was all. Nothing but silly kind words.

“I don’t want to be home alone,” she admitted.  
“Alright,” Victor said, “Is there anyone you want to send for who could stay with you?”  
“I have no one who would come,” she said, her voice choking again.  
“Your parents…?” he offered.  
“They’re not around,” her throat felt like it was closing up. Tears burned her eyes but she didn’t want them to show.  
“I’m sorry,” he said, “how long?”  
“Six months, 4 days.” She began crying despite herself.

Victor pushed off the chair and stood, slightly hunched to be eye level with her, and tried to comfort her. It wasn’t his strong suit. His bedside manner was non-existent. No need for it when you work with corpses.

“I’m so tired, Victor,” she cried. “I’m so damn tired.”  
“It’s alright, lay down.” He guided her head to the pillow.

Violet lay down and turned on her side, away from Victor. It wasn’t to get away from him, she just didn’t want to cry in front of him. She didn’t want to seem so weak and hated that she’d let herself cry.

Victor sat on the edge of the small bed and gently rubbed her back. Violet’s crying stopped and the two of them sat in silence a while; Victor kept rubbing her back gently to provide some comfort and Violet liked that he kept quiet but stayed with her. His presence was all she wanted in terms of comfort, not words. In the silence she thought a while, her thoughts consuming her until she managed to slip off to sleep.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor divulges his greatest secrets.

Violet wasn’t sure how long she had been sleeping but when her eyes popped open it had only felt like moments and she felt even more tired than before she had lay down. Sunlight was still streaming in through the dirty window so she assumed it must not have been long at all. Sitting up slowly she looked around for Victor.

She found him across the tiny apartment in his kitchen. He sat at the small table with his body facing off to the side so he could see better with the natural light steaming into the room. Violet almost called out his name, alerting him to her having awoken, but she suddenly felt as if she was intruding upon and act she should otherwise not be witness to. She shook her head softly to clear the thoughts and the heaviness of sleep, thinking it ridiculous that she felt like she was catching him in a private act when all he was doing was sitting in his own kitchen. When she went to speak, however, she realized why her intuition was trying to warn her.

Violet watched, silenced, as Victor reached out of her line of sight, grabbed a tourniquet and wrapped it around his upper arm. As he waited for the veins in his arm to become visible he drew up something in a syringe and briefly touched his arm with his fingers to check the patency of his veins before plunging the needle in and injecting whatever liquid it was that he had drawn up.

Nursing had taught her to never assume. Perhaps he was ill or was treating a chronic condition. Her gut told her he was more likely to be self-medicating or that his drug was recreational, however. She hadn’t taken him for the type, but she supposed she could have been wrong. They had spent some time apart and she had no idea what he’d been up to, really.

Victor pulled the needle out slowly, let out a sigh, pulled off the tourniquet, closed his eyes and let his head fall back. Violet was caught between three courses of action: 1 – Lay back down and feign sleep, pretending she never saw anything; 2 – Demand answers to the questions she had filling her head: the Whys, the Whats, the How Longs and the Shouldn’t You Know Betters; 3 – Leave him in silence but stay vigilant and monitor him to ensure that he is safe and that whatever he had pumped into his veins doesn’t consume him.

It wasn’t her place to play the nurse to him but he was her friend despite their previous estrangement. He had been there for her, even if it was by chance, and she should be there for him. If she wouldn’t let a stranger sit in silence in a moment like this she sure as hell would not ignore her friend. Deciding that staying silent would be the worst of the options she spoke up.

“Victor?” she called.

He picked his head up slowly, feeling sluggish from the poison in his veins. He looked around before turning his body to face her. “Violet. You’re awake.”

“Are you alright?” she asked.  
“Of course,” he replied. She thought he looked tired. “You slept well, I assume?”  
“I don’t feel I have. And it can’t have been very long. It’s still daylight,” she said.  
“You slept through the night. It’s half passed eight in the morning,” he explained.  
“Shit,” she cursed softly, but still loud enough that he heard though he did not say anything about it.   
“It’s good for you, you needed the rest,” he told her.

There was a pause.

“Are you alright, Victor?” she asked again.  
“Yes, I already said so,” he repeated.  
“Then what was that?” she asked.  
He sighed, “not all ailments are visible.”  
“You don’t need to tell me that, Victor,” she bit.  
“Of course not…” he shook his head.  
“Of the mind or body?” she implored.  
“Mind, which is almost as bad,” he answered.  
“I would argue it is worse,” she agreed. “How long?”  
“Since childhood, as much as I can remember,” he said.  
“You’re self-medicating, I mean,” she clarified.  
“At least since school, can’t remember during which year,” he told her.  
“What is it?” she asked.  
He hesitated but answered, “Morphine. Mostly. Sometimes a mixture of it and cocaine to make the low not so intense.”  
“Oh, Victor,” she sighed. Her heart ached suddenly. It hurt her that her friend was using such things and hurting in such a way. “Surely a doctor of medicine does not need it explained to him why he should know better than to use such medications for those reasons.”   
“I am quite aware of the risks,” he snapped. “And I told you, I’m not a doctor exactly….”  
“You said you were engaged in research. Just because you’re not practicing does not mean you’re not--“  
He cut her off, “I dropped out before graduating.”  
“What?” she gasped.  
“Those ‘professors’ had no idea what they were professing. I had more knowledge than they could even attempt to teach.”

She remembered he often complained about not learning anything he didn’t already know from his own private studies and how incompetent he felt the professors were, but she had no idea he was serious about it on such a level that he would drop out.

“You call yourself ‘Doctor’…” she said.  
“I have never once. Others just assume,” he said.  
“You do not correct them,” she stated.  
“And why should I? I have more than enough knowledge to deserve the title! I have created –“ he stopped himself suddenly and seemed to skip over the subject he’d inadvertently brought up. “I have more knowledge in multiple areas of science than any of them have in their own chosen specialties,” he finished.  
“What have you created?” she asked, not letting him try and dismiss information.  
“Nothing,” he pushed.  
“Victor, please. You can trust me,” she said. “We are friends, you know I share your interest in science, I would love to know what you have created.”

She was appealing to the egotism she knew he was capable of and it appeared to be working. He chewed his bottom lip, debating whether or not to tell her. She could see how nervous he was. He was torn between his egotism and also fear of her reaction. Would she shun him? Would she think him mad? Ultimately his desire for approval and praise got the best of him and he had come to his decision.

He crossed the apartment and stopped at the side of the bed so he was standing right before her. “It stays between us, it’s imperative that no one else finds out about this, do you understand?”  
“I won’t tell anyone,” she promised.  
“I mean it – no matter how you feel about it you cannot tell anyone. If you detest me you may go your own way and never speak to me again but you must swear to tell no one what you have seen or of what I am about to tell you,” he spoke quietly and quickly. His heart was racing.   
“Victor, I promise,” she assured. “I will tell not another soul for as long as I live if you do not wish me to.”  
He took a few deep breaths and then held out his hand, “well then let me show you what I have created.”

Violet carefully took his hand and allowed him to help her still aching body up from the bed. She was unsure what she was about to be presented with but she hoped it would give her more insight as to what her friend had been up to since they had last met. As Violet moved the pain returned and she winced. It wasn’t bad if she laid down and was still, but sitting was almost unbearable still.

“Would you like something for the pain?” Victor asked.  
“No, I don’t think it’s quite bad enough to warrant morphine, Victor, thank you,” she snapped through clenched teeth as she cursed the pain.

He let her compose herself and after a moment she rose and the pain eased up.

“Are you alright now?” he asked, moving so that the hand Violet was not holding was supporting her, his free arm wrapped gently around the middle of her back.   
“Yes, I’m alright,” she said on a heavy exhale.

She saw the look of concern and curiosity in his eyes. He was still wondering what had happened but was respecting her choice to not tell him and was allowing her that privacy. She appreciated that kindness and knew how hard it was for him to not know; Victor always hated not knowing things. Still, she wasn’t quite ready to talk about it. She felt a slight pang of guilt, after all she had just pried into his personal affairs not moments ago and now he was about to spoil her with yet another great secret of his own. She brushed it off. She would tell him, she decided, but when the timing was right. Whenever that would be, she thought.

He nodded, not entirely convinced she was alright, but taking her word for it. There wasn’t much he could do for her otherwise if she was going to hide the severity of her pain. He led her across the small room and into the kitchen, skirting around the table there and stopping before a cabinet. Letting go of her he pushed the cabinet aside to reveal a door and followed up the action by pulling a key from one of his pockets and unlocking it. With one hand on the doorknob he turned and faced her. He was studying her reaction, trying to gauge what she could possibly be thinking. She was a bit surprised, it wasn’t every day that ordinary people had secret doors to secret rooms in their run-down apartments nor share such a thing with her, anyway, but she didn’t let her face show this. When Victor saw no fear or apprehension in her expression he turned back to the door and opened it.

Taking her hand he led her through the door and down a flight of stairs into an otherwise spacious room that was crowded with machinery and contraptions. The daylight shown dimly through the dirtied windows in the ceiling illuminating some of the equipment that her friend had gathered.

“Is this what you have created?” she asked, dropping his hand and moving away from him to inspect some of the machinery more closely.   
“Part of it,” he smiled, his pride getting the best of him. He had never had someone to share this all with; someone who seemed to appreciate what he had done. It felt good.

Some of the things she recognized from operating rooms and other various hospital machinery. Interspersed with the recognizable objects were some she could not quite place; they looked like hybrid contraptions of the familiar hospital machines, like bits and pieces were taken from the various machines and placed together to make something new or more efficient. It was incredible, she thought, that her friend had created these new machines. She wondered as she went along how much they could benefit the hospitals, how many lives they could potentially save or enhance. Her original thought was cut short and replaced with another; why hadn’t he shared his inventions? Why was he hiding them?

Pushing her negative thoughts aside as best she could she continued exploring the workroom, amazed by the things she was seeing.

“No wonder you’re living in squalor, Victor, these things must have cost you a fortune to acquire!” she laughed. “Oh gosh if you’re father only knew where the money he had given you has gone –“

She was about to round a corner when Victor darted in front of her and blocked her path as well as cut her off midsentence.

“You must remember your promise!” he said, slight panic in his voice. “No matter what.”  
“I promise, but Victor, this stuff is incredible surely –“ he cut her off again.  
“Promise me! Please,” his voice was strained, and Violet thought perhaps his hands were shaking.   
“Yes, Victor,” she said softly and sincerely, “I promise you I won’t tell anyone.”

She had been feeling elated, like a child in a toy store. The things she had seen were incredible. Victor’s anxious demeanor and the fear in his voice, despite how badly he tried to hide it, had caused her to feel a slight sense of dread and panic of her own. What was it that he was so determined to keep a secret? That he was worried about showing her? What could he possibly have created that he wanted to tell someone, to show someone, but was simultaneous terrified of?

Victor nodded, seemingly reassured by her promise. After a deep, slow breath he stepped aside and let her pass. Violet had a smile on her face, determined not to let the silly feelings of anxiety get her down when there was obviously much more to be discovered, when she moved quickly passed him to discover what else there was. No sooner did she clear him and the corner did she come to a dead stop, smile falling from her face quickly.

Shock set in her features as she saw what her friend was so desperate to hide. In the center of the workroom, surrounded by all the machinery, was a corpse. The body of a deceased adult male was placed in a sitting position in a tub of ice. The body was stripped of clothing and the stitching from an autopsy were clearly visible and prominent in the never-healing flesh. The body was pale and quiet, as the dead are, but seemed to loom over her despite being several feet away and dwarfed by the equipment surrounding it.

She wasn’t afraid of the body. It was not like she had never seen a corpse before. No, she was not scared of the dead. The thing that frightened her was the location. Corpses belonged in the morgue, in hospital beds before being carted off to the morgue. In alleyways and rivers before being dragged into hospitals and brought to the morgue. Morgues and places where morgues were the final destination before the grave. Not workrooms. Especially not workrooms belonging to people she considered friends.  

She couldn’t take her eyes off the body but she felt Victor’s presence beside her. He was watching her, trying to deduce if he had made a mistake in showing her.

“What the FUCK Victor?!” she said as loudly as she could which was nothing more than a whisper.

The room felt heavy, and unbearably empty yet full. It always felt that way to her when she was around the deceased. It felt empty as the energy of the person dissipated; their liveliness suddenly gone, and yet it felt full, their bodies seeming to become giant and weighted, changing the entire depth of the room. She wondered, after death, if the soul hung around just a little bit to see what would happen to the body it had made host of. Perhaps that was why everything felt full and empty. Empty because the energy was gone but full because the soul without the body to contain it filled the room.

“I’m going to revive him,” Victor stated. Violet thought his voice was too loud.  
“Victor he’s dead!” she snapped, still whispering. “He’s been fucking autopsied!”  
“I made sure his organs were intact and otherwise functional. He had drowned, his lungs full of fluid, I drained them, repaired them, emptied his stomach of the water that filled there…. Internally his body is functional,” he explained as if what he had done was so simple anyone could do it.

There was more to what he had had to do to repair the internals, Violet knew that much, but Victor didn’t feel like explaining everything, he often didn’t. To Victor you either understood without being told or else he didn’t feel like wasting his time explaining.

“Victor, his heart isn’t beating, what do you mean internally he’s functional?” she snapped, her whisper getting slightly louder but she couldn’t shout even though she wanted to. She felt it was disrespectful. And part of her felt like if she did shout she might disturb the corpse.

Victor opened his mouth to speak but Violet cut him off, “Victor you can’t restart the heart! Many have tried and it just doesn’t work. Besides – you know he’s brain dead! No oxygen to the brain means death Victor and you can’t fix that by cutting into his head!”

“It’s not like that,” he said.  
“Not like what, Victor, it’s been proven!” she said.  
“No, I can do it,” he insisted.  
“You’re fucking insane,” she scoffed. She made to turn and leave, she needed to get away from him.

He’d lost his mind and she didn’t want to be the next person in that tub. She was scared of him and she was wishing he had never been in that hospital. She thought back to the other night, the night she was raped on her way home, and was so angry in that instant. If that had never happened she would not have been in the hospital room on the floor Victor had made his appearance. She would have never been reunited with him, never would have been brought to his home, never would have seen what he’s been doing. Ignorance certainly was bliss, she thought bitterly.

The fear and anger combined in her and overwhelmed her suddenly. Without her control her legs gave out and she fell to her knees. The action only made her even angrier, she didn’t want to appear as a weak-willed woman who couldn’t handle a little fear – she was a nurse goddamn it – but the events of the last few days were becoming too much for her to handle.

Victor rushed to her side and squatted down next to her so they were eye level.

“Violet,” he started.  
She tried to push him away but he placed a hand behind him on the ground to steady himself. “Go away.”  
“Violet, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have showed you. I just thought you’d understand,” he said.  
“Go away!” this time she did shout.   
“Please, just listen,” he said, “I know it’s a lot, but trust me, I know I can do this. I know I can. It’ll work.”  
“A lot?” she laughed bitterly. “A lot?!”

Her laughter was manic and filled the room. Victor was a bit put off by it.

She continued to laugh. “You know what’s ‘a lot’, Victor? I’ll tell you,” her head was growing light and she was getting a bit dizzy from not getting enough breaths in, but she pushed on, “’a lot’ is getting raped two days ago a mere feet from my damn home, running into some prick who hasn’t fucking so much as written to me in years, going back to his house with him because I thought I could trust him only to find out he’s got a fucking corpse in his apartment!” She was hysterical.

Victor was shocked by her revelation but at the moment all he could concern himself with was the second half of her declaration. She was afraid of him and he didn’t want her to be.

“You can trust me,” he said. “I’m sorry I haven’t written, I’ve been preoccupied with this, and I realize that doesn’t help you, but please, you need to calm down and take a deep breath.”  
“Fuck you,” she laughed. Her laughter ceased quickly and she began hyperventilating.   
“Violet, please take a deep breath, for your own sake,” he insisted.

Begrudgingly she listened to him but not before she felt her face and fingers begin to tingle from the lack of oxygen she was getting. The room was spinning and she felt like she was floating and going to fall over at the same time. Victor placed an arm around her and steadied her. He waited patiently as she took deep breaths and calmed herself down enough to where she was no longer having a panic attack and was stable. As soon as she was he stood and offered a hand to help her up. She ignored his help and stood up herself.

“Please come sit with me,” he said.   
She stared at him, not sure of what to make of him anymore.  
“Violet, I’m not going to hurt you. It’s still me. I’m still the same as when you knew me at the University,” he said.  
“I never took you for one to hoard dead men,” she said flatly.  
“I am not hoarding them. It’s only one. I didn’t kill him, he drowned at sea and floated into the river where the resurrection men found him and I bought him for my research,” he said.

Violet chewed on her bottom lip, considering what to do with this information. She didn’t think so highly of resurrection men but she also wasn’t terrified of them. She knew they were just odd men with either a fetish for the dead or else they were eccentric and involved in trying to use bodies for experiments or witchcraft and such odd things. They weren’t dangerous. Just weird.

“Fine,” she said after a moment. “But Victor, I swear to God if you dump anything else like this on me again I’ll fucking run so far from you you’ll never see me again.”  
“I’m not,” he said. “No more shocks, I promise.”


	4. Enter Proteus

Victor escorted Violet out of the workroom and back into the kitchen upstairs. In silence she sat and watched him fix the two of them a small lunch. When it was finished he pulled up a seat opposite her, took a sip of his drink, and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”  
“About what?” she replied; there were around a hundred subjects floating around her mind for her to choose from.  
“About what happened? Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

‘Oh,’ she thought, ‘that.’

“Pardon me for not wanting to tell every person I see about it,” she snapped. “And you’re one to place guilt, you seem quite fond of keeping secrets, yourself.”

Victor was quiet, unsure of how to respond to her anger. He awkwardly took a bite of his lunch; Violet did the same. After swallowing her bite of food she broke the tense silence.

“I’m not sorry, Victor, I have nothing to be sorry for.”   
“No, you are right, you don’t,” he agreed.  
“There’s nothing to talk about anyway,” she continued. “It happened, I hardly remember it, I was unconscious, lucky that I assume,” she let out a bitter half-laugh, “but the pain still lingers. Forgive me for not wanting to go into every solitary detail.”   
“It is alright, Violet, I do not need to know them, you have told me enough. Thank you,” he said before taking another bite of food.

Violet broke from the uncomfortable conversation to eat her own lunch, she hadn’t realized how hungry she had been, and she ate quickly.

“What would you like to do today?” Victor ventured asking.

Violet thought a moment, idly ripping pieces of bread from the load and popping them into her mouth.

“I’d like a change of clothes and a bath, honestly,” she sighed, “but the thought of returning home is making me feel sick.”  
“Sorry,” he responded, “that may just be the aging bread.”

 It may have been a joke but Violet inspected her next bite for signs of mold.

“Right, not the time for jokes then,” he looked away, embarrassed.   
“No, I’m sorry,” she responded, “I just… get wary of food spoiling easily.”

Victor nodded, still feeling embarrassed regardless. After another short pause he cleared his throat and offered, “if you would like, I could go with you to your home for some clothes, or until you feel comfortable there.”  
Violet nodded, “I suppose….”

When lunch was finished Victor cleared the table save for the bread that Violet continued to pick away at, the loaf now hardly more than an end piece.

“Would you like to take that with you?” he asked.   
“Sorry,” she responded. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”   
“It’s quite alright,” replied. He grabbed a bit of paper and rolled the rest of the bread into it then handed it to her. “Now you can enjoy it on the ride over,” he smiled.  
“Thank you,” she smiled back.

~~~~~~~~

The closer the carriage got to her home the more nauseous she felt. Thankful for the bread, she took tiny bites to try and settle her stomach but it simple was not working. The carriage turned the corner onto her street and she began to panic. Simultaneously she felt as though she was going to vomit and wet herself. Her heart rate increased and pounded so hard her chest hurt, her body felt entirely wrong; she felt like she was dying. Her breathing pace skyrocketed and she began to hyperventilate causing her hands and face to begin to tingle as her vision started to grey out and her head felt as if it was so light it would float away. Through her panic she could tell Victor was speaking but his voice sounded far away and muffled, like she was hearing him from underwater.

“Violet… Violet, it’s alright,” she heard, finally. “We’ve turned around.”  
“What?” she asked, breathless.   
“Just breathe, alright. Deep breaths, nice and slow, alright?” he guided. “I’ve turned us around, we’re going back to my flat, see,” he pointed out the small carriage window. “Just focus on my voice, count the buildings that go by and take slow, deep breaths,” he instructed.

Violet began to cry. Victor tried to calm her, “It’s alright Violet.” He wrapped an arm around her.  
“I knew I didn’t want to come back here,” she cried, “I didn’t know I couldn’t” she stressed the words ‘wouldn’t’ and ‘couldn’t’.  
“Shh,” Victor consoled, “it’s alright. We can go back to my place, I can drop you off and, if you’ll allow, I’ll come back here and pack you some things.”  
Violet laughed bitterly, “how backwards is it that I would feel safer around your workroom than on my own street?”  
“My workroom is of no threat to you, nor is anything within it. You know that to be true,” Victor replied.

Violet sighed, a sob stuck in her throat. “Would focusing on something else help?” he asked, hoping to find something to distract and calm her even if it was only something brief. Violet nodded. Victor did as he promised and brought her back to his apartment, Victor counting the number of passing buildings softly as they looked out the window to help calm Violet.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Would you like me to draw you a bath for while I am out?” he asked as they entered the small apartment.  
“Alright,” Violet responded.

Victor nodded and set off to his new task. Violet waited on the edge of the bed until he emerged from the bathroom.

“There is a towel in there for you as well as a bath cloth. Do let me know if the water temperature is suitable,” he said.

Violet rose and nodded, passing him and walking into the tiny and dingy bathroom. The tub was small but with her petite frame it would not be an issue for her to get comfortable. She touched a hand to the water to test the temperature; it was hot, but not uncomfortable.

“Thank you, Victor,” she said. He nodded, pulled the door shut and let her have her privacy.

She made quick work of removing the hideous dress leant to her from the hospital and stepped into the tub. The water was deep enough to reach her calves and it felt good to finally feel clean water on her skin. She went to sit and as the water reached the areas of her body that had undergone their unjust assault the pain that shot through her was unbearable. She let out a yelp and her arms gave out, unable to support her weight and push her back into a standing position through the pain. Her feet slipped from under her and she fell into the tub, narrowly avoiding bumping her head on the ledge. The water stung her body as tears stung in her eyes.

There was a knock at the door. “Violet, are you alright?” Victor called.  
“Fine,” her voice cracked and her lie was unconvincing.  
“Violet…” he repeated.

Violet didn’t answer immediately, instead she sat in the water, with her teeth clenched, and attempted to breathe through the pain. Slowly the water began to sting less and less.

“Violet answer me!” he yelled, worry evident in his voice.  
“I’m fine!” she yelled back at him. She wasn’t, not yet, but she knew she would be.  
“Do you need me?” he asked, timid.  
“No, I’ll be alright, Victor. I promise,” she answered and followed it with a slow exhale to push off the pain that was still ebbing.  
“Should I stay until you are finished or –“ he started.  
“You can go, Victor, I’ll be alright,” she sighed.

Victor nodded, though she couldn’t see it, and turned away from the door and made to leave.  
  
~~~~~~~~

Violet finished her bath before Victor returned and, though she felt a little guilty going through his personal things, she grabbed a pair of his trousers and a shirt and tossed those on instead of the hideous gown she’d been wearing. Then she loosely tied her wet hair back with a string she’d found just so that it would not hang in her face. Sitting down at the kitchen table she idly thumbed through one of Victor’s journals that he had left sitting there. There were elaborate illustrations of anatomy and various notations and sketches. His artwork was incredible, she had had no idea he was so talented with art. Then again she realized that there was a lot of things about him that was unknown to her.

Her thoughts drifted to the large cabinet and what lay through the door hidden behind it when a knock at the door startled her and she jumped. For a few seconds she sat still, wondering whether or not to answer as it was not her home, but another knock never followed. Figuring the caller must have left she got up and peaked around the door to check. The caller indeed had left but they had left behind a large package. It looked important and like it contained something that surely Victor could not afford. Despite the large size of it the package was not heavy and she was able to carry it easily from the doorway to the kitchen table. She was dying to open it to see what it contained but she knew she could not. To try and sate her curiosity she lifted the attached notecard and read the name of the sender, Sir M. Murray. According to the card he was calling upon Victor to attend a meeting with him at the Explorer’s Club. Violet wondered why Victor would receive such an invitation or how such a man as Sir Malcolm Murray would know of Victor. She hadn’t thought Victor would be interested in such company. Placing the calling card back on top of the package it belonged to she returned to her seat, the journal she had been thumbing through now buried beneath the ornate box, and was left to her own thoughts.

Luckily enough Victor returned shortly after. He saw her, sitting at the table silently and staring off into space, wearing his clothes. He felt his cheeks flush momentarily and let the feeling subside before clearing his throat and announcing his return.

“I hope you were not too bored,” he stated.  
“No,” she answered, turning her attention to him. “You received a package.”  
“I can see, it appears hard to miss,” he responded. “From whom?”  
“There was no one at the door but the card says it’s from Sir Malcolm Murray,” she told him.  
“The explorer?” Victor asked, placing the suitcase of Violet’s belongings down and walking over to the package.  
“I assume as much, don’t know of any other by that name,” she replied.

Victor read the card requesting his appearance. When he was finished he seemed to remember Violet’s presence.

“I’m sorry, forgive me, do you want help with your things?” he asked.  
“Later,” she said, “I want to know what’s inside.”  
Victor smiled, “that makes two of us.” He carefully opened the package to reveal a very high-end looking tuxedo.  
Violet looked just as surprised as Victor at the expensive gift. “Well go on! Put it on then!”  
“No, I-I shouldn’t accept this, I don’t even know what for,” he said.  
“Victor, please, how rude would it be to deny such a thing!” she replied.  
Victor thought a moment and then sighed, “You’re right, it appears I have no choice.”  
Violet smiled, “Face it, Victor, you’re just as curious as I am about all this.”  
Victor returned the smile, “You’re not wrong.”

He carefully lifted the garment and carried it with him into the bathroom so that he could change privately.

“What do you think?” Victor asked, emerging from the bathroom wearing the gifted tuxedo.   
“I’m shocked it fits you so nicely without it having been measured for,” she replied, laughing softly.  
“What is so funny?” he asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious and embarrassed.   
“It does not suit you at all. The bowtie seems over the top. It’s not… ‘you’,” she explained.

His face fell momentarily and his ears felt hot. His stomach fluttered at the idea that she thought he looked ridiculous but he realized she was right.

“And what is ‘me’?” he asked.  
“Well…,” she thought a moment and then motioned to the clothes she was wearing; cheap, working-man’s clothes. “This.”

She stood and made to walk over to him but almost tripped over the leg of trousers that were far too long for her. Victor motioned to catch her but she was able to catch her balance and only stumbled.

“Remind me again why I spent fare to fetch you your own clothes if you are just going to wear mine?” he laughed.  
“Hush, Victor, don’t deny me comfort,” she replied with a smile.  
“At least let me pin them up so you don’t trip,” he offered.  
“I’ll be fine,” she responded, hiking the pants up and pulling the fabric so that the hem was no longer under her foot. When she finished addressing her own appearance she turned her attention back to him and straightened out the ridiculous-looking bowtie. “There, that’s somewhat better.”

He looked down at her and smiled.

Looking up and seeing the expression on his face she asked, “what?”  
“Nothing,” he shook his head and blushed. There was a pause for a short moment and Violet took a few steps back.   
“So, what do you think this whole affair is about anyway?” she asked.  
“I have not the slightest idea,” he answered.  
“Hmmm,” she mused.  
“You’ll be alright here?” he asked.  
“I was earlier, was I not?” she responded.  
“Yes, of course,” he answered.

Victor was gone longer than she anticipated and she did indeed start to grow bored. To her luck, however, a storm rolled in. Storms always interested her, the louder the thunder and the more frequent the lightning the better. She dragged a chair over to the kitchen window and tried to watch the storm. The window was too grimy, however, and she could barely see the flashes of lightning and could not see the rain running down at all. She sighed, resigning herself to missing the storm when she remembered that the workroom had windows set into the ceiling. Perhaps she could watch the storm from there, she considered.

‘He’s dead,’ she thought, ‘it’s weird but it won’t hurt me.’

After a moment more of arguing with herself whether or not to go back in that room she decided she would. Grabbing the key from the vase she’d seen Victor toss it in before he’d left she pushed aside the cabinet, unlocked the workroom door, and stepped inside. Leaving the door open behind her she slowly walked halfway down the stairs. Taking a deep breath to steady herself she found the courage to fully enter the dark room. Wishing she’d brought a candle to break the darkness she used the brief flashes of lightning to find her way to the small table that she figured Victor spent more time at than then one in the kitchen. She sat down and while most of her attention was on the storm she occasionally glanced around the room. Despite the other occupant not having a pulse she still felt as if she wasn’t alone.

As the storm raged on she began to see flashes of light coming from inside the room as well as outside of it. She had heard that sometimes circuitry could get overloaded and spark and she worried about the possibility and what would happen if that indeed occurred. However, the flashes from the machines never happened while she was looking and so she began to think that she was imagining it.

The thunder was becoming deafening now and she was surprised she was able to hear Victor when he called out her name from the kitchen. Not feeling like shouting she didn’t reply.

“Violet?” he called again, panic in his voice, as he jogged down the stairs and turned on some light so he could find her.  
“I’m here, Victor,” she responded softly.

He appeared, peeling off dripping wet clothes as he walked, completely soaked to the skin. “What—“ he began but Violet cut him off.  
“I’m watching the storm,” she replied.

A bolt of lightning sparked the sky at the same time the machinery around the body in the ice tub sparked.

“That’s been happening, I thought I was imagining it,” she told him.  
“Shit,” he cursed, rushing over to a cluster of fuses and beginning to fiddle with them.

Violet thought he shouldn’t be doing such a thing, soaked as he was, but before she could open her mouth to say so the room was suddenly bathed in light before plunging back into complete darkness. The fuses had been overloaded and blew out. Victor cursed again as he struggled to fix the damage. It took a moment but ultimately it worked and he was able to switch on a dim bulb, casting the space in sparse, yellowed light. The shadows in the room were deep.

Sighing Victor stood and turned away from the fuses.

“Victor,” Violet said, her voice was almost inaudible she was so quiet.

Turning around, sensing something wasn’t the same as before, he saw the cause of the fear he heard in her voice and his stomach dropped. The tub, formerly housing the body, was empty and the body that was previously a corpse was now standing quietly several feet behind it, just a few paces away from where he and Violet now stood near the now empty tub.

Both Violet and Victor were frozen where they stood, fear rendering them incapable of movement.

The reanimated body moved first, Violet and Victor felt as if they were bolted to where they stood. Though neither of them had any mind of how the other was in this moment they were both trembling. The body that had once again been thrust into the world of the living seemed to hulk over the pair of them despite the creature’s stature not being very large at all. The corpse-now-again-living-man started toward them, his naked body entering the light. He was fair, of average build and height, nothing extraordinary about him at all, save for the now bleeding autopsy suture lines that wrapped his head from one temple to the other and the ones wrapped around the base of his neck and extending down the midline of the body and ending at the belly-button like a horrible macabre necklace. Violet could just make out what appeared to be more suturing down by the hip and wondered what this poor man had gone through.

The bleeding, naked, re-animated man looked completely blank in expression as he walked closer. It was as if watching an expressionless puppet be walked about. It was creepy to see such blankness in a human being. He drew closer and made his way around to where Victor was stood. Violet only had the strength and nerve to turn just her head to watch as the creature – the man – stand directly in front of Victor. In the dim light she could see him shaking like a leaf and knew it wasn’t from the cold he must feel from being soaked to the bone, but rather from the fear of the unfolding events. She couldn’t tell for certain if it was tears falling from his eyes or just rain water dripping down his face from his wet hair.

The being was silent and gently reached out to touch the wetness beneath Victor’s eye and then brought that same finger back to it’s own face, in the same spot in which it had touched Victor’s which showed Violet two things; one, this creature was interested in filling it’s blankness, and two, Victor was crying.

“Can you hear?” Victor asked, voice strangled with fear.  
The re-born man smiled wide, like a child, and Victor was choked with emotion that he couldn’t hide. “My name… is Victor Frankenstein.”


End file.
